


Forging a Life Amidst the Dross

by aikisenshi



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death Knight, Draenei, F/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, World of Warcraft: Legion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aikisenshi/pseuds/aikisenshi
Summary: Draenei weaponsmith Kahles and his Paladin wife Ophela, a Hero of Azeroth, have been through a lot since their people came to this world. The very least of it Kahles' mysterious disappearance, only to be found again, years later, among the ranks of the Death Knights.Will they ever be able to be like they were, once upon a time, before the Lich King Arthas turned Kahles into an unholy monster?
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Forging a Life Amidst the Dross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kahles, Dranei Death Knight, returns to his smithy in Dalaran. He finds his wife, Ophela, Paladin Defender of Azeroth, upset and disturbed by something she has experienced that day. When Kahles hears her heartbreaking story, he wants to comfort her with some quality couple time. But that cannot happen without risking his undead life...

I return from my delivery to the pounding of a hammer against an anvil. Inside our smithy, I find my wife. Half of her armor is piled at her feet, the rest is still strapped to her lovely body. Her breastplate lies on the anvil, where she is attempting to hammer out a dent. I can see from the glow of her eyes and the way her tail twitches side to side that she is agitated, possibly angry. She is not wielding her hammer with anywhere near her usual finesse. I watch as a strike goes awry and the breastplate falls to the floor with a clatter, nearly landing on her cloven hooves. I catch her next wild swing before it connects with a stack of unfinished plate-mail behind her.

She tries to yank the hammer away, but though she is a strong woman, even for a Draenei, she cannot match my strength unaided. I pull back on the tool and drag her close. She glowers at me, but when she tries to speak, it emerges as a sob. Her lavender-purple hand presses to her mouth. She relinquishes the hammer. Her shoulders sag, she nearly collapses to the floor as tears begin to flow. I catch her before she falls completely, and we sink down together to sit among her scattered, demon-ichor splattered armor.

I hold her tightly against my broad chest as she weeps. I wish I could do more to comfort her. There is a soothing effect from feeling the warmth of another living being, of hearing their heart beating. I wish to the Light with all my soul I could give her that simple comfort. My heart has been still since the day my scouting party stumbled across the Lich King's minions.

We Draenei had newly arrived, crash-landed to be true, on this world called Azeroth; after fleeing the destruction of the world of our exile. I was part of a far-ranging exploratory party sent to scout out our new world. It pained me to leave my bride behind at the Exodar, but duty called for us both, and I would not be gone long.

My party’s first introduction to the inhabitants of the northern continent was to be slaughtered by undead monsters. The next thing I remember after my death was waking up as a slave of the Lich King, my soul forever trapped in my own magically reanimated body.

Years passed before my Death Knight comrades and I broke free of the Lich King Arthas’ control. Further months before I regained my memories of my life before my death. Months before I even recognized my Ophela again. And a year beyond that before she could come to terms with the unholy ashen-skinned undead monster her lost-and-found husband had become. But... that is the past. She is my heartbeat now, my dearest love. Her purity and strength sustains me when I despair. Which is why I cannot stand to hear her weeping now.

I do not even know yet why she mourns. She has spent so much time away recently, conferring with the council of the Silver Hand concerning the demon invasion of our adopted world. After her heroic deeds over the years: defeating the Lich King Arthas, destroying Deathwing, saving Azeroth from thousands of smaller threats; the council elected her to lead the order of Paladins. I sometimes do not see her for days at a time. I am just as busy, though perhaps less importantly, working here in our smithy forging weapons to fight the Legion.

Her tears begin to slow. I gently tilt her head so that the soft white glow of her eyes meets the icy blue of mine. I ask her if she is ready to tell me what has upset her so. She begins shakily, tells of a summons from Prophet Velen, of the Exodar invaded by demons. Of battles through the city as she and her companions rescued civilians and destroyed portals. How the leader of the invasion appeared: an Eredar, one of our kind before they followed Kil’jaeden the Betrayer to join the Burning Legion. The demon taunted them from within the heart of the city, threatening to kill O’ros.

They did not arrive in time. Her voice catches as she recounts how she watched, helplessly, as the crystaline naaru shattered under the Eredar's blow.

It is enough to make any follower of the Light weep: the murder of the holy being who has guided and protected the Draenei throughout our exile. I hold my wife close again in shared grief, but she shakes her head and tells me there is more.

She and her Paladins attacked the Eredar, she continues, to protect the Exodar and in angry retribution for the death of O’ros. But Velen hesitated, he said he had been here before, and they must stop their attack. My love sobs again, says she should have listened, she should not have second-guessed the Prophet. As the demon fell to her sword, Velen rushed to its side, crying out in anguish.

For the Prophet Velen had indeed seen these events, he said, in a vision when he first held his newborn son. He had seen a demon, scarred and wounded, dying in his arms. This Eredar was Velen’s son, she says. Long thought long dead, but in fact stolen away, and corrupted by Kil’jaeden for millennia. My wife had killed what remained of the Prophet’s only child.

Ophela has always had great respect for our leader, her greatest desire since she was a child has been to serve as one of the Prophet's personal guards. It was the reason she began adventuring across Azeroth (besides wanting a distraction from losing me to a fate yet unknown). She wanted to learn how to protect against any foe she may face in the Prophet’s service. That original desire has gotten somewhat set aside over the years. Her adventures being one of Azeroth’s greatest defenders have overshadowed the station of a ‘simple bodyguard’. We do not even have a residence on the Exodar any more, we make our home here, above our smithy in a small corner of Dalaran. When she is not leading Paladin forces from their headquarters at Light’s Hope, at least.

“He sent me away.” She whispers, her voice cracks. I have never heard her this shattered before. “He told me there was nothing for me there, on the Exodar.”

Her hands clutch my tunic, she draws a shuddering breath. “He sent me away, Kahles, then asked for the Grand Artificer to make the Vindicaar ready to fly. Our people are going to war, back to Argus, and Velen said there was nothing for me there with them.”

“Perhaps he knows you are needed here.” I try to console her with my words, but I know my words sound as hollow as my voice does, against her feelings of guilt and loss.

“All I ever wanted was to be loyal, worthy of his trust,” she says. “And when I was called upon, I acted in fear and anger, instead of following the Prophet’s lead.”

I kiss her gently on the forehead, between her grey back-curved horns. I wipe tears from her cheeks. My tunic is damp where she buried her face against it. I remove the shirt and toss it among the scattered armor. I lift her to her feet and help her unstrap the rest of her plate-mail. Her armor will all need repair and cleaning, but it can wait. It is her emotional armor that needs the attention now.

I follow her to the stairs that lead up to our apartment. She stops in front of me, listless, unfocused. I wrap an arm around her waist, pull her tight against my chest and whisper into her ear.

“I want to comfort you, my love, will you help me?” I slide a hand up to one of her firm breasts, caress her curves through her shirt.

She stiffens in my embrace. She is hesitant, yet I feel her breathing quicken. It has been far too long since we have made love. She turns to face me, strokes my cheek, then trails her fingers down one facial tendril to my bare chest. Her eyes are thoughtful, concern wars with a burning spark of desire.

“You know it's dangerous—.” She begins.

I lean down to kiss her, she rises to meet me, her hands entwine into my hair. She presses her lips to mine. I know my skin is frigid, cold as dead flesh, if not colder. The chill of the Lich King’s power lingers on all it touches. But soon, that would change, however temporarily.

It was an accidental discovery, found when the Death Knights escaped Arthas’ control and tried to return to their homes and lives.

We climb the stairs into our apartment. We unlace, unbuckle, and strip our clothing as we go. She unpins the tight coils that keep her hair secure when she goes armored. She tousles her hair loose with a sigh, the black wavy curls fall to brush her now bare lavender shoulders. I stroke her back, it is warm against my cold hand.

Priests of the Holy Light tried to find a way to restore the Death Knights to true life, to fully reunite our souls with our bodies.

We reach the bedroom, our clothing is tossed aside. I sit near the head of the bed that is rarely used when she is not here. I do not need sleep. I can mentally fatigue, become emotionally spent, but never physically tire. The Lich King’s power preserves and sustains my body, keeping it from degrading, ever relentlessly going. It is why Arthas was so hard to defeat, his minions stay ever strong as their foes tire.

The Priests and healing-focused Paladins knew that sufficient application of the power of the Holy Light can repair and renew a broken body. It can even recall the soul of someone recently fallen, bringing it out of the Shadowlands and back to its body. They postulated there was a way to do the same with the Death Knights.

I lean back against the headboard and look up at my love. She looks down at me, arms crossed beneath her breasts. Her face is still worried, but I can see signs of her arousal. A flush to her cheeks, and to those lovely breasts, darkening the circles of skin at the tips. I reach out to her, tell her it will be alright, we have done this before, and I have emerged unscathed.

The wielders of the Light took volunteers, Death Knights who had nothing to lose if the experiments failed, and had begun their tests.

She acquiesces, takes my hands and climbs onto the bed. She swings one firm well-muscled leg wide as she settles down astride my hips. I feel her hot damp cleft against my cold flaccid flesh, and see her shiver in response. I stroke her thighs, trace her curves up her flanks until my hands cup her breasts. I squeeze gently, my thumbs flick across her taut nipples. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her hands begin to glow with the Light. She opens her eyes once more and meets my eyes, her gaze holds worry, a question, yet they glow with passion. I nod to her and tell her to begin.

As the Priests and Paladins had channeled their power into the volunteers, the chill-touched bodies warmed, their hearts began to beat again. Tears flowed as the Death Knights cried out in mingled excitement and pain. The Light was cleansing the dark power that animated their forms, it burned as it did so, but their bodies lived again! They could feel their hearts beating, and their blood flowing through their limbs again.

She places her hands on my chest, and the Light flows through her into me. I place my hands over hers and revel in the touch of the holy power. It revives, yet burns. My hands clench involuntarily, I move them away from hers, and grip the sides of the bed. I injured her once, in a spasm of pain, I do not wish to do so again. With a jolt of mingled agony and ecstasy I feel it, my heart beats! Heat and pain alike spreads as the Light-enervated blood flows throughout my body. The heat reaches my loins and begins to pool. Physical arousal races to catch up with mental. A soft moan escapes her lips, she begins to rock her hips, to grind against my hardening flesh. I suddenly realize I need to take a breath, my body needs oxygen again. I gasp. She looks down at me in concern. Through coughing wheezes and gritted teeth I lie and tell her I am fine.

I am not, every nerve is screaming as the Light battles with the corruption for control of my body. The Light surrounding her increases, shoots up her arms, coalesces into wings of pure holy energy. The wings spread from her shoulders in fiery glory as she maneuvers herself onto my erection. The sensation is exquisite, even through the pain. My hands clench the sides of the bed as her flesh envelops mine. A moan rumbles through my chest as together we begin a race against death.

As the power of the Holy Light flowed into the Death Knight volunteers, their bodies revived. But the pain escalated, and soon became less physical and more ethereal. Death Knight volunteers began to die as their souls were forcefully banished. The dark energy that powers our corrupted bodies is the same power that ties our soul to that body. The Light could not completely heal a Death Knight without also severing that connection to their soul. Without souls to sustain them, the newly-revived bodies soon ceased to function, and were never able to be revived again.

As badly as my body shudders with the pain of the Light and my loins ache for release, I focus on her. She is the one who needed this the most. We move with an urgency that is only half sexual as she rides my rigid shaft. I use the leverage of my muscular tail against the bed beneath us to raise my hips, to angle more deeply into her. Her moans are louder, her body clenches tightly around me. Darkness blurs the edges of my vision, I feel the Light from her hands seeping into the depths of my soul. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, the cleansing fire of the Holy power wars with the darkness that animates me, and the Light is beginning to win.

I feel her body begin to shudder, she cries out as orgasm claims her. I clutch at her hands, trying to pull them away from my chest, to break the flow of Light before it is too late. My vision tunnels. I try to speak, to call out the pre-arranged safe word that warns her I have reached my limit, but it emerges as a formless groan as I climax as well and suddenly come into her. The release is ecstasy, and the last sensation I feel before...

...blackness

Her voice echoes in the dark, she pants from her exertions still. “Oh, Light, what have I done? No! Do not leave me my love, not again.” She cries.

...shadow

I see my body, lying motionless on the bed beneath my increasingly frantic wife. The room is faded, grey.

...floating

A voice, it echoes less in my head as in my soul. It sighs in mingled exasperation and amusement:  _ You two just keep tempting fate, don’t you? _

I recognize the voice. It is the new Lich King. Former Paladin Highlord Bolvar Fordragon volunteered to take up the burden of the Lich King’s crown, after my wife and her companions defeated Arthas. Someone had to remain upon the Frozen Throne to control the Scourge’s mindless undead. The Death Knights are still tied to his power, and he is somewhat conscious of our actions, but he usually leaves us to go about our existences in peace.

_ I don’t begrudge you your desires, Death Knight,  _ the Lich King continues. _ Your devotion to your... husbandly duties... is admirable, but I don’t know how much I can help you, Kahles. This helm I bear may draw its power from the Shadowlands, but I’m not omnipotent here. All I can say is you two have not completely severed your tie to your body... this time. _

_ I understand, Sir, _ I answer. Chagrined, and more than a little embarrassed, I focus my will and regather the unholy power the Death Knights use to manipulate life, or, the semblance of life at least. I reforge the nearly broken bond between my soul and my body.

My eyes open. My dearest love looks down at me. I feel her touch on my skin, which is quickly cooling. My heart is still once more. My wife’s panicked look calms as I reach up to run a hand through her sweat-dampened hair. I assure her that I am still here, and will be for as long as she needs me.

“But we have to find some other solution to making my body live again.” I say, enfolding her in my arms. “There has to be something out there that can fix this.”

“We will find it, husband,” she replies. “Somehow.”


End file.
